Orbiting in pace with the Moon, but hidden by it from the Earth, a huge starship waited and monitored its agents on Earth.

"Sir!" the underling said, saluting with its tongue as was proper. "A coded message!" and handed it to its Commander. It left.

The Commander flicked the communication button, said something, and then waited.

Presently the door dilated and the Sub-Commander came in. "Something new, Chief?" it asked.

The Commander threw the message to it. "Read it."

The Sub-Commander did so and hissed. "That's not good. We'll have to release the human. Is it well indoctrinated now?"

"I think so. I think it will do our bidding, or at least cease spreading lies about us." The Commander smiled and the smile went nearly to its earholes. "Prepare to return it to its original location!"

Some two hours later Hector Ballsworthy, naked and chilled, was deposited on the Great Grimpen Mire. He was seen by a the leader of a group of Girl Guides who were walking the Moor and his presence called in to the police. About a hour later he was taken up and, after various checks were made, released with a pair of borrowed pants, a pair of borrowed shoes and stockings, and a borrowed shirt. There was a present of £25 pounds, which was the cost of a train ticket home, from Her Majesty's government

As the train pulled him homewards, Ballsworthy reflected upon his adventure. He had been...somewhere...and had been treated well. Exactly what had happened he did not know, but he did know that lizardmen could in no way be as threatening as he once thought them to be. And that utter nonsense he'd been writing! He was ashamed, and vowed silently to change his ways.

I see...what others cannot. I see beyond the mundane, beyond the physical, beyond the spiritual. I can see> and by seeing, know. I am unlimited! Boundaries that used to bind me are no more! I have burst the surly bounds of Earth and danced the skies! Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds! I've done what you have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung in silence, and hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung myself eagerly through footless halls of air! Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue, I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace, where never lark or even eagle flew! You see, I see with eyes that know no bounds!

With Win10 upgrades you have to look for the very small print that gives you a link to do what you really want to do. The big obvious "click here" links are to the stuff Microsoft would prefer you do. And don't let their privacy (lack of, that is) defaults stay put.

With a simple, single shot, .22 caliber rifle, at 25 meters, I shot out a 1.75 inch (4.45 cm.) bullseye. Five "ranging and windage" shots were used, as I haven't shot that rifle in over a year, but then I just decided to keep shooting until the center was all gone, which I did.

Haven't shot that well in...well, ever. It's because of that Catter-wrecked surgery I had and the lenses put in and all, because I can see better than I have since, oh, 1951 or so.

Then I took up another single shot .22 caliber rifle and shot at stuff left at the end of 100 yard range. Yes folks, I was hitting the pieces of broken clay pigeons on the backstop at 100 yards using a falling block rifle pretty much unchanged in its design since 1880. I did this for about an hour, and once I got the range I rarely missed.

A wind of about 20 mph was blowing from 6 o'clock, varying slightly, just enough to make it interesting.

I was so moved by that last MacGonagall masterpiece that I can only follow it by posting another one...

Little Popeet: The Lost Child

Near by the silent waters of the Mediterranean, And at the door of an old hut stood a coloured man, Whose dress was oriental in style and poor with wear, While adown his furrowed cheeks ran many a tear.

And the poor coloured man seemed very discontent, And his grief overcame him at this moment; And he wrung his hands in agony wild, And he cried, "Oh! help me, great God, to find my child."

"And Ada, my dear wife, but now she is dead, Which fills my poor heart with sorrow and dread; She was a very loving wife, but of her I'm bereft, And I and my lost child are only left.

And, alas! I know not where to find my boy, Who is dear to me and my only joy; But with the help of God I will find him, And this day in search of him I will begin."

So Medoo leaves Turkey and goes to France, Expecting to find his boy there perhaps by chance; And while there in Paris he was told His boy by an Arab had been sold

To a company of French players that performed in the street, Which was sad news to hear about his boy Popeet; And while searching for him and making great moan, He was told he was ill and in Madame Mercy's Home.

Then away went Medoo with his heart full of joy, To gaze upon the face of his long-lost boy; Who had been treated by the players mercilessly, But was taken to the home of Madame Celeste.

She was a member of the players and the leader's wife, And she loved the boy Popeet as dear as her life, Because she had no children of her own; And for the poor ill-treated boy often she did moan.

And when Popeet's father visited the Home, He was shown into a room where Popeet lay alone, Pale and emaciated, in his little bed; And when his father saw him he thought he was dead.

And when Popeet saw his father he lept out of bed, And only that his father caught him he'd been killed dead; And his father cried, " Popeet, my own darling boy, Thank God I've found you, and my heart's full of joy."

Then Madame Mercy's tears fell thick and fast, When she saw that Popeet had found his father at last; Then poor Popeet was taken home without delay, And lived happy with his father for many a day.

Much as I admire the stunning butchery of her scansion, the tortured inversions and abortions of her rhyme schemes, and the almost inimitable lackluster of her pedestrian imagery, I would like to ask Little Hawk not to post anymore of those poems. They offend my sensibilities.

As for Rapparree's revelations concerning Chinga and Chongx, I am most amazed at his authorial vision, the deftness of his plot development (despite certain obvious flaws in development and stylistic gaps). I think Little Hawk will be hard put to continue his insistence about Chongx's origins and will finally have to face up to the twisted immoralities that have hitherto been so thinly disguised in the monkey's backstory.

'Twas Christmastide in Germany, And in the year of 1850, And in the city of Berlin, which is most beautiful to the eye; A poor boy was heard calling out to passers-by.

"Who'll buy my pretty figures," loudly he did cry, Plaster of Paris figures, but no one inclined to buy; His clothes were thin and he was nearly frozen with cold, And wholly starving with hunger, a pitiful sight to behold.

And the twilight was giving place to the shadows of approaching night, And those who possessed a home were seeking its warmth and light; And the market square was dark and he began to moan, When he thought of his hungry brother and sisters at home.

Alas! The poor boy was afraid to go home, Oh, Heaven! hard was his lot, for money he'd none; And the tears coursed down his cheeks while loudly he did cry, "Buy my plaster of Paris figures, oh! please come buy."

It was now quite dark while he stood there, And the passers-by did at the poor boy stare, As he stood shivering with cold in the market square; And with the falling snow he was almost frozen to the bone. And what would it avail him standing there alone, Therefore he must make up his mind to return home.

Then he tried to hoist the board and figures on to his head, And for fear of letting the board fall he was in great dread; Then he struggled manfully forward without delay, But alas! He fell on the pavement, oh! horror and dismay.

And his beautiful figures were broken and scattered around him, And at the sight thereof his eyes grew dim; And when he regained his feet he stood speechless like one bowed down, Then the poor boy did fret and frown.

Then the almost despairing boy cried aloud, And related his distress to the increasing crowd; Oh! What a pitiful sight on a Christmas eve, But the dense crowd didn't the poor boy relieve,

Until a poor wood-cutter chanced to come along, And he asked of the crowd what was wrong; And twenty ready tongues tells him the sad tale, And when he heard it the poor boy's fate he did bewail.

And he cried, "Here! Something must be done and quickly too, Do you hear! Every blessed soul of you; Come, each one give a few pence to the poor boy, And it will help to fill his heart with joy."

Then the wood-cutter gave a golden coin away, So the crowd subscribed largely without delay; Which made the poor boy's heart feel gay, Then the wood-cutter thanked the crowd and went away.

So the poor boy did a large subscription receive, And his brother, mother, and sisters had a happy Christmas eve; And he thanked the crowd and God that to him the money sent, And bade the crowd good-night, then went home content.

"But since we are all here, I'll make it a grand announcement. But, are they treating you alright, Chong'?"

"I'm fed baby food by a chump with a spoon and a rod. I have to pee and poop all over myself and I'm hosed off for a cleanup. I have to put up with Slim Thing's choice of clothes. I seem to be in a sub-basement in Chicago. But otherwise t'ings are just hunky-dory," Chongx said bitterly.

"Yes. I disliked losing those people no matter, but no matter. Their families are being taken care of; I don't bind the mouth of the kine who tread the grain. But that's not why I flew in. It was because of you. You see -- no, you don't, it's been too long -- my name is Chinga and I'm your twin sister."

At this Chongx felt the world fall out from under. Chinga! She'd last been seen in the jungles of West Africa with his mother, both of them sobbing because Chongx was leaving, using the rest of the money raised by selling their "services" to passers-by.

"Yes, indeed. I'm your loving sister, flesh of the same mother as you are." Renata smirked.

His tough-guy bravado shaken, he asked, his voice in the higher registers, "Wha...what are you going to do to me?"

"Why, feed you and clean up after you and even loosen the chains enough so you can move around the room, use the bathroom. Even medical care. If you are good, of course. It's actually a rather nice, though spartan, suite down here in the sub-sub-basement. And I know you'll be good."

"I'll escape first chance I git!" Slim Thing and Renata seemed to be ready to explode with laughter. "What're you two laughing at?"

"Tell 'im!" said Renata, chortling.

"Yes, do!" said Slim Thing.

"All right." Chinga turned back to her sibling, then addressed Renata. "Better get the doc in first."

Renata,giggling, opened the door and a gentleman entered. You knew at once that he was a physician, and a good one.

Chinga continued, "There we were, me and mom, sold into whoring by our own blood." Chongx squirmed, started say something, didn't. "Mom died of shame soon after you left and I was, shall we say, a trifle miffed by your actions. I swore that you would die. Flaying alive crossed my mind, as did a million more ways over the next years. Oh, I read of your adventures. Yes, I followed your career, from being fired for eating too many of the bananas you were supposed to be inventorying to your last caper with those two from Old Blighty. I researched your entire life right up to this moment, and dear Renata has been a great help these last few years -- thank you, love! And my revenge will soon be complete. Only a couple more days, and we can afford to let you up and around -- gotta get those muscles working again!"

The others in the room waited expectantly for some denouement or other.

"You may have noticed your voice has been cracking recently. My research, and it's been quite thorough!, tells me it isn't because of whisky and cigars. By the look on your face I can reassure you -- it's not cancer.

No, you're reverting! The surgery you had in West Africa, dear sister, wasn't very good by today's standards. You genes are taking over again. Haven't you noticed your nipples are sore? Ah, I see you have! Yes, you're going through puberty again, dear sister! But it'll only take two or three more days and you will be the woman you were intended to be. And I've made sure you have the best of care during this trying time of your life."

Chonga -- her real name -- fainted from this news from her twin sister.

She came to again, aware of the four in the room. A man's voice said, "She's okay now" and the doctor moved away from the patient changed to the platform.

Chinga repied, "Why, I'll see you get a job, of course! Big sister will take care of you. You'll be working for me and I think you'll rise in the ranks pretty quickly. Of course, we have to make it look good so you'll have to start at the bottom."

Chonga: Bottom? Delivering the mail or something to the offices? Stock clerk?

Chinga: Oh my, no! It's not that kind of business! You'll start on your back or on your knees, like all the other girls in my stable! Dear, dear sister, I run high-class establishments which are known as 'brothels.' Renata started that way, and now she's one of my more trusted executives. And so will you. And for now we must leave you to think about the changes going on in your body and what your future holds. But we'll be visiting you now and then. Toodle-o!

And the four left.

Chonga, still dazed from the news, started to sob.

(But what, you ask, of Hector Ballsworthy? of Penelope Rutledge? These loose ends will be tied up soon!)

And screw George. He is mowing as it hasn't rained for five hours. Before that, it was wet and cold (10C) for four days and his golf green lawn grew 1/4", tops. Tomorrow, 18C and sunny so he'll be mowing again on Saturday. The man definitely needs to take a course on the fine art of procrastination.

It is either the Yamato or the Musashi. Have seen this photo already many times, but not usually in color, so it must have been colorised. The stern is not damaged, it simply looks odd because of several ships boats in the water next to it and various other objects on the deck area at the back, which is one level lower than the main deck. The large pale areas are tarps put out for shade from the hot sun....those decks would have been hot as hell when anchored on a sunny day.

Hmm.

Wrong comment!

I did write a lengthy and supremely brilliant comment that actually had to do with this thread....I wrote it hours ago...and I tried to submit it over and over again...at least 10 times...by copying and pasting it..by reloading this F-ing page and pasting it yet again! And so on...and on...and on...

It never went through.

I am now trying again, but I find something else entirely in my buffer or whatever it is, so the original thing I wrote has been lost for all time and has been replaced by something I said more recently about the battleship Yamato on Facebook.

Mudcat, go screw yourself.

And you who are too special to read all this fooferaw, go screw yourselves too.

Penelope and a contrite -- truly contrite! -- Veronica waited in the VIP Lounge at O'Hare. A rather high-ranking member of the British Consulate in Chicago waited with them.

Veronica, her once mid-back length locks now much shortened and styled, was wearing a dress suitable for visiting the Queen. She was reticent, having been diagnosed the day before with a "social disease" picked up during her recent adventures; fortunately it was curable by a course of heavy-duty antibiotics.

The Counsel-General spoke. "Lady Rutledge, you will be taken onto the aeroplane without problems -- I personally assure that. Miss Veronica will also have no questions asked of her. Upon landing at Gatwick you and your niece will be escorted through Customs and a car will be waiting to take you home." He smiled. "Consider this a gift from Her Majesty, and please remember me to her when you can."

Two airport policemen entered and approached the trio. One spoke. "Pardon me, but are you Penelope Rutledge?"

"Yes, I am, officer."

"You dropped your passport."

Penelope was startled. She took the gold and burgundy booklet, flipped through it to assure herself it was indeed hers, and thanked the officer. She offered a reward but it was refused with a "Just our duty, Ma'am." The officers left.

"Oh my," said Penelope. "It must have fallen from my pocket."

"Or was taken, and the thief taken. I'll be certain to follow through on this. In the meantime, I see that the Captain is here. Shall I help you with your baggage and see you to your seats?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Penelope.

The entourage bypassed the boarding Gate, of course, and when they were settled into their First Class/VIP seats and thank-yous and goodbyes had been said, Veronica spoke.

"Aunt Penelope, I've been a fool. A fool with this latest and I've fooled away much of my life. I've been a selfish, self-centereed, brat. I've been a taker and I am now determined to change. I've toyed with the idea, and I am determined to convert to Roman Catholicism and become a nun."

"WHAT??!!" asked Penelope, louder than she had intended.

"Yes. I want to enter an order which works with the very poor and ill. I feel that I must make up for my past. And Auntie -- I'm very serious about this. It isn't a whim."

"Very well, if you are certain. I have friends in Vatican City and...."

"No, Aunt Penelope. I must do this on my own. I only ask your blessing on this new life I am determined to enter."

"Very well. We're taxiing, so right now let's sit back and enjoy the ride home."

**************** (A cloister nun? Veronica? Yes! Sister Mary Veronica of the Tears of the Repentant Magdalen now resides in a convent in the Pyrenees. Most of her day is spent in prayer and reflection in the Chapel. Her aunt was amazed, to say the least.)

Nor do my characters need your unfounded boasting about your fictional conquests. You're behaving like some kid in high school who goes around telling all his buddies that he laid the girl on the cheerleading squad when she actually can't stand him and he never even got to kiss her. For shame, sir! Fie!

Renata has not been scorned. Not in 2018, and not now either. You, sir, are experiencing hallucinations, possibly due to over-medication with some kind of intoxicants. I recommend drinking several glasses of water and getting some rest.

You've definitely got Renata confused with someone else, maybe a family member or maybe some nasty skank you dated back in your military days...anyway that's not Renata. She's a well educated lawyer, and she doesn't talk like a gangster moll. What I mean is, she doesn't say "ain't".

"Tranquilizer dart, lover boy. Slim Thing wanted you alive for some reason. Oh! I remember now! He wants to know where the broads are stashed. Seems like you offended him, shooting a couple of his goons and running off with one of his stable," explained Renata.

"Drugged. Yeah, that would explain it. I thought I had a hangover and fell down," said Chongx.

"Like usual. Only this time I'm not going to feed you Bloody Marys to help you get over it. I told you what would happen if I caught you fooling around on the side again."

"But I haven't! I mean, she's a client! There's the ten grand she paid me in my pants pocket! Check!"

He felt her hand searching his pocket in that old familiar way. She clenched her fist and withdrew her hand.

"Why looky here! There must be seven or eight grand here! I think I just won the prize!" And she took her purse off the table and put the bills in it.

Chongx was stressed even more when he saw her withdraw a hypodermic kit. He asked, "You ain't mainlinin' again are you? I thought you...."

"Shaddap!" said Renata. "No, this ain't for me, lover boy. It's for you." And she started tapping the end of the needle on the brick wall. "In a Chicago sub-basement, you know nobody can hear you scream."

There is a myth in the military of "the dull, square needle in the left nut." It's not true; the military hasn't been able to get any square needles for years, much less blunt ones. But the thought crossed Chongx's mind as he lay there, chained down, watching his former...friend....

The door opened with a jolt and an older man of medium height, wearing a bright green zoot suit and a white Panama hat entered. Chongx noted that it was a real zoot suit and newly tailored. The visitor put his hand on Renata possessively and said, "Renata. Ixnay the eedlenay. We will try other ways, but thank you. You have been a wonderful help in all of this. Now be a good girl and go upstairs and entertain yourself."

She left and the man said, "Chong' ol' boy, I don't believe we've met. I'm Slim Thing. Not my real name, of course, but what that is doesn't matter. But one of my bims is gone and you had something to do with it. I'd like her back, but not very much; she wasn't bringing it in like she should so she was a flop. I'll let her go. But I don't like rubes like you screwing up my racket. No, I don't like that at all.

"Can I go to the can?" asked Chongx.

"No. You're going to lay there for a while. The boys will feed you and water you -- a baby bottle for safety and baby food. But as for getting up and running around, no. We'll hose off the slab you're laying on now and then, though."

"Bast..." said Chongx through clenched teeth.

Slim Thing slapped him and said, "We don't use such language here. I try to run a high-class speak."

He left. Chongx sighed and accepted the situation. There was nothing else he could do for the moment, and in a few more minutes he was much more comfortable.

I am not reading Rap's tale. Rap pretending to be Little Hawk pretending to be an ape or a dissolute aristocrat is a step too far removed from reality to suit my taste. It's like lining up two really distorted fun house mirrors so each reflects the other, standing between them, and trying not to throw up your funnel cake.

Chongo has always regarded you as offensive too, Amos, but not in regards to your personal style or comportment or anything like that. Rather, in regards to your obvious specism, your hatred of apes and monkeys, and it is that unfortunate aspect of your otherwise fine character that will probably result in you being placed on the "special list" of individuals to be dealt with by the Primate Justice Department (PJD) following Chongo's inauguration next January. Rap, of course, has been on that list for years, and will be the first to be arrested.

I know how much you lust after Penelope, Amos, and I do sympathize, but you are not the first to have met complete frustration along that line of fantasy. No, they number in the thousands. So get back near the end of the line, my good man, and be prepared to wait, probably until Hell freezes over, Donald Trump becomes humble, and Hillary Clinton grows a heart...meaning....never.

Well, I am. And I gae a great gurgle of delight to read of Chongo finally catching some of his due in the form of that high-powered rifle bullet. Really, he is a very offensive little brute, according to Penelope herself, who shared this opinion with me during a session of pillow-talk just down the hall from where Veronica was sleeping it off. She showed up wearing one of those fluffy white bathrobes the Omni provides, but decided it was too warm.

I am reminded of the scene in the Woody Allen film where he is standing in the movie lineup with Dianne Keaton and he gets in an argument with the blabbering, pretentious fool standing behind them who claims he knows all about Marshall McLuhan because he teaches a University course on McLuhan....and Woody Allen says, "It so happens I have Marshall McLuhan right here."

Rap, it so happens I have Renata and Chongo right here, and you know what Renata says?

This: "You know nothing of Little Hawk's characters! Your attempts to depict them in dramatic prose fall way wide of the mark, and make me wonder how you could ever imagine yourself to be capable of writing about them at all? And you say you were a librarian? No wonder the nation's libraries are falling into disuse! But, by all means, continue acquainting us with the dark visions that haunt your addled little mind. I'm sure it will be quite useful research material for Herr Liebenscheiss when he takes on the job of giving you some sorely needed psychoanalysis."

And what does Chongo say?

This: "He's a hopeless bozo. Don't pay no mind to his silly ramblin's 'cause they don't add up to a flyspeck on a shithouse wall."

(I was wondering, though, when you would bring "Renata" properly into the story. Your version of her, I mean... And who is Slim Thing based on? Your first wife?)

Now, "Bad Penny Rutledge" kills for the pleasure of seeing those she considers her adversaries dead. Only a psychopath or sociopath or a psychotic sociopath kills for pleasure.

But let us rejoin Chongx on the rooftops as he shows up in the crosshairs of a rifle sight.

The gunman squeeeezed the trigger and Chongx fell, fortunately onto the roof. His last thoughts were that he was glad that the two chickadees had managed to fly away without being glommed on.

He slowly, slowly, awakened, somehow aware of pain in his hip and that his wrists and legs were manacled or something. Somehow he knew he was in a basement or anyway underground somewhere. He'd been on a roof. It was confusing.

Then a cold, wet, towel viciously smacked both sides of his face and he was fully awake.

The first thing he saw was Slim Thing, bending over him and so angry he was spitting with each word.

"YOU cost me a dame twice! A genuine high-class dame! YOU shot two of my goons! You cost me the value of a roll with the dame, not to mention what we would have taken from the john's pockets! Now you are going to tell me where she is and who the other dame is so we can set up a twofer for the really flush suckers!

"Don't know," murmured Chongx. "Hip hurts. Handcuffs...too tight."

"Yer leg irons are pretty tight too. Yer gonna hurt even more real quick if you don't tell me where they are."

"Can't. No idea," replied the ape.

"You sure? Well, in that case I think we'll have someone very special see if you can be made to talk." He called out someone behind hime, "Okay, we do it the hard way."

A door opened and Renata walked in.

"He's yours," said Slim Thing. "Make him talk."

"With pleasure," murmured Renata, sliding her hands down her leather-clad hips. "With pleasure, and with pain."

Now, let's see, Rap. You have arbitrarily killed off 2 of my main characters. (Winston Wellington-Jones and Hector Ballsworthy) You have caused another main character, the esteemed Ms Rutledge to commit 4 murders, albeit one of them offscreen.

This means you already owe me so much in reparations that it will take you another 3 lifetimes just to BEGIN paying them off!

And meanwhile I shall, of course, simply resurrect the characters, as happens in fiction and video games.

I look forward to receiving your first $10,000 installment at the beginning of July.

The three moved quickly away, not so rapidly as to attract attention but quickly. Veronica was the first to notice Chongx's absence and she mentioned it to her aunt.

Penelope pointed to roof and then fire escape of a building across the street. A short, hairy figure in a fedora was swinging along, grasping whatever seemed handy. Once it stopped and looked back at them, then continued.

"Flank guard, I suppose," said Penelope.

They reached Cicero Avenue and Penelope flagged a cab. The figure on the rooftop waved goodbye and vanished.

"Omni, please, and hurry," Penelope told the driver. He shrugged and took off for the Loop.

Penelope sat back and looked at Veronica. "We'll talk, eventually," she said. "But first let's get you cleaned up, have a good dinner, and a sound night's sleep."

At the hotel they went immediately to Penelope's room and once inside Veronica flopped into one of the easy chairs and began to sob. Penelope said nothing, knowing that the sobs were a reaction to recent events. Finally, the crying stopped and Veronica said, "I think I'd like to take a long, hot shower."

"Help yourself," said Penelope, "the bath is in the room to the left. There are two beds in the bedroom of this suite, one of them is yours. You'll find some nice, fluffy, bathrobes in the closet in the bathroom. And Veronica...if you need a sleeping aid I have some."

All Chongo fans should read Yann Martel's latest book, The High Mountains of Portugal. Chimpanzees are prominently featured. Though none of them drink rye, wear fedoras, or shoot .44s, they also don't fling poop.

Chongo (again): "As for the Rutledge dame, that one can do whatever she decides to, see, 'cause she has enough money to buy haffa Manhattan, plus the wit to stay calm and focused on the main objective in spite of it. Them kind are pretty much unstoppable. The law can't touch 'em. They got too many connections. This proves to me that humans ain't a total waste of space on this planet. You never know, they might yet evolve into a species with real possibilities..."

Chongo: "Boy, I tell ya, when ol' Raparree sets about to writin' a crime noir story, he don't pull no punches. This stuff is like a mix of Mickey Spillane crossed with the Sam Spade stories. Not bad at all. And he never lets the truth get in the way of spinnin' a good tale. I guess all them years of bein' a librarian wasn't the total waste for him that I figgered it would be. The part I like best is the part where I disassemble and clean the 1911 gun. Yessir, that was a tour de force, as the French would say. Ook! Ook!"